


You Deserve This State

by Salemshield



Series: Vegetable Love [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stucky - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Is a Reader, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, M/M, Post-Winter Soldier, Rain Is Both Bad and Good, Slow Build, Some Progress (Touching Is Now Good), Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salemshield/pseuds/Salemshield
Summary: Getting better, but for those pesky memories. (New York rain is a killer.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes
Series: Vegetable Love [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966021
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	You Deserve This State

Steve had grown to love the rain. 

The first time he realized it, he’d been awake for only a few weeks.He was just back from his “readjustment” in the middle of nowhere, courtesy of SHIELD, and had moved into his apartment only a few days prior.(This was Before.As in, Before Loki and aliens decimated New York.Not to be confused with Before-Before, as in Before the ice.Steve many years later thought on how many Befores he had in his life and how disappointing the Afters often turned out to be in comparison.)

He’d been on an early-morning run, learning his way around the streets of a new century, when the skies opened, bypassing any semblance of a gentle drizzle and moving full throttle into a blinding downpour.It was only moments before the curbs were flooded, puddles becoming rivers at every street crossing.At first, he pulled his hoodie over his head and tried to keep his face dry, but that attempt quickly proved futile.Every inch of him was soaked.He was still several miles from his new place, so, dodging waterfall awnings and the odd umbrella-wielding pedestrian, he calculated the fastest route back.As he darted across one deserted street-turned-river, wondering how he was going to get dry in time for his late-morning appointment with the stupid SHIELD therapist, it struck him: his apartment was _warm_.He had fluffy towels. He had a hot shower.He had a _washer_ and _dryer_ , for heaven’s sake _._ He could get as wet as he wanted—or not—and it didn’t matter.

This revelation was astounding.For Steve had another Before and After in his life, and both of them disapproved of the rain.

Before he got big, before his life was destined to be more than twenty-five or thirty years of illness and pain, rain was dangerous.It could send him over the precipice of whatever health he’d managed to attain and into a chasm of coughing, fever, and other assorted maladies.When he was very small, Sarah Rogers had mother-henned him whenever it rained.Even when he’d just been out to the corner for bread in the misty damp of early spring, she insisted upon his return that he change his clothes immediately (even if he had only the one spare set).On days the mere damp turned into a mizzle, not only would she force Steve to change, but she’d insist on a hot bath.His mother would heat the water, one pot at a time, over the stove, pouring it into the small tin tub that sat in the corner.Once there was enough to sit in, Steve would climb in, the heat warming his lower bits while his arms and knees remained cold.Sarah poured the water in as quickly as it would heat, the bath warming up marginally with each new batch.It never got past lukewarm, but Steve’s tiny, shivering body sat in it anyway until he turned wrinkly. 

Later, after Bucky became the sun to his orbiting star, Bucky and Sarah tag-teamed the rain situation.As soon as it started raining, Bucky would throw his own coat over Steve and drag him home from wherever they were—whether it was the schoolyard or the corner store or his latest alley fight, they were always together—ignoring Steve’s “Aww, Buck, it’s just some rain.” 

“Your ma said to make sure you came right home if it rained,” eight-year-old Bucky said.

“Ain’t just rain, Rogers,” eleven-year-old Bucky sighed.

“Rogers, you are a pain in the ass,” fourteen-year-old Bucky muttered.

“Steve, you can’t afford to get fuckin’ sick _again_ ,” seventeen-year-old Bucky said, the week after Steve had finally recovered from pneumonia.

“Stevie,” said twenty-two-year old Bucky, when they were drunk on a stoop as the rain started to come down.Steve had grabbed Bucky’s arm and accepted his coat without complaint as they lurched their way home to their shitty apartment, where drunk Bucky still filled the tub (which had made its way to the apartment they shared after Sarah’s death) and made Steve strip and sit until he was warm.(By then, that’s all it took—just his name in Bucky’s worried voice—because Steve felt guilty enough that Bucky had willingly embraced the burden of taking care of Steve after Sarah’s death.He didn’t want to burden him any more by making him take extra shifts at the docks to pay for medicine.)

After the serum, of course, he didn’t need to worry about getting sick if he got caught in the rain.But still, after he was big but before, well, the twenty-first century, rain was still an enemy, and once he was in Europe, he almost wished for the days of lukewarm water in the tin tub.The weeks and months spent out in the forests, the dark places where Hydra birthed their even darker weapons, made him loathe the rain.It would soak through everything, no matter how thick and warm—wool could protect you for only so long before it gave up the ghost of dryness and sat like a heavy, stinking sheep on the body.The boys got used to building a laundry fire, separate from their own.If it wasn’t too cold, they would set up a drying rack, efficiently tying together branches and twigs and tossing their damp coats, shirts, pants, and socks to dry overnight while they shivered in their skivvies around the second fire.Most of the time, though, one night in a cold Italian forest by a sputtering flame was not enough to dry anything, so they would gingerly put on freezing, damp socks and trousers in the pre-dawn light before they got ready to march once more.

Before-serum Steve and After-serum Steve—both hated the rain.

After-ice Steve, though, in light of his revelation, dodging some commuter traffic a few blocks from his new place, laughed aloud as he ran through the deepest of the puddles, enjoying the shivery damp, the petrichor-laden streets of the city.

And when he unlocked his door, stepping into a warm room instead of the uninsulated tenements of his youth, he sighed with contentment.He didn’t care that he soaked his carpet as he stripped off on the way to the shower, where he stood for an indulgent fifteen minutes before drying himself with a fresh towel.Later, as he took his running clothes out of the dryer and almost buried his face in their warmth, he thought about his mother, hanging little Steve’s wet clothes up by the stove, the smell of sweat and dirt almost overpowering their apartment.He thought of Bucky wrapping him up tight in their own place, toweling off Steve’s hair and turning his back as Steve slipped out of his clothes and into the tin tub.

After that day, every time he had the chance to run in the rain, he took it.

~~~~~

Bucky had finally exhausted the Little Free Library.He went by for three days straight, but no one had deposited anything new.He thought briefly about rereading what was in there, but he didn’t feel much like slogging through that murder-mystery from 1965 again, especially when he’d figured it out by Chapter 3 the first time.And he wasn’t going to touch _Atlas Shrugged_ again with a ten-foot pole. 

He wandered back to the apartment, knowing that Steve was probably pacing the floor with worry.Bucky had finally told Steve that yes, Bucky knew Steve was following him whenever he went out because a) “I was the _Winter Soldier_ , Stevie, for chrissake,” and b) “You are a goddamned bull in a china shop when it comes to stealth,” so Steve reluctantly agreed to stay home while Bucky went out.He’d gone out without his Steve-shadow for a week now, swinging by the LFL or the tiny bodega that was more like a stall than an actual enclosed room (which is why he liked it) to get a newspaper, which he much preferred to getting his news from the goddamned Internet.

When Bucky walked in, Steve looked him over, trying to be nonchalant about checking for illness or injury or loss of limb.Bucky sighed inwardly— _I’ve been out for half an hour, Stevie_ —and only then did Steve notice that he came back empty-handed.

“Aww, they didn’t have anything new again?”

Bucky shook his head, taking off his coat and hanging it on the hook by the door.

“And you still don’t wanna go to the library, right?”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened.He knew he was being irrational, that Pierce wasn’t going to jump out at him from the stacks of the Carroll Gardens Library, but the thought of being inside such a large building, full of strangers, probably with security cameras that could be hacked...he shuddered.

“It’s fine, Buck.”Steve turned back to his sketchbook.“We can order you some stuff, you know.It’s really easy, and it comes right to the door.” He studiously kept his voice light, his eyes on the drawing.

Bucky sat down at the opposite end of the couch.“Maybe...” he said, his voice trailing off.“Seems like a waste of money, though.I’ll be done with ‘em in a day or two, and then what?”

Steve looked up and grinned.“Then you put them in that empty box and let someone else find ‘em.”

Bucky looked down at his hands, palms open in his lap.“Still.It’s your money.”

Sighing, Steve put his sketchbook down on the coffee table.Bucky glanced at the sketch. _Me_. _He’s drawing me. **Again**_.He breathed through the undefinable emotion.

“Buck, how many times I gotta tell ya, huh?Mi casa es su casa.Mi dollars es su dollars.I got enough in back pay that I ain’t ever going to spend.” 

They’d has this discussion several times already.Now that Bucky was settling into his mind, remembering more, talking more, he was acutely aware of how little he was contributing to their household.He ate Steve’s food, showered with his hot water, took up his space.It made him feel...useless.His returning memories were of being the one who worked, the one who made the money, the one who took care of Steve.It didn’t sit right that he was being coddled, and it didn’t matter that Steve was now richer than either of them could have dreamed of.It was still wrong.

Steve had been sitting there expectantly, waiting for a response.When he didn’t get it, he settled back down into the couch cushions, picking up his sketchbook again. 

“Just think about it, okay?”He glanced briefly at Bucky’s profile before returning his focus to—well, Bucky’s profile, as he sketched him.He was trying desperately not to push, not to overwhelm.It was maybe the hardest thing he’d ever done, not following Bucky out of the apartment, not buying him every single book Amazon had in stock. 

They sat in silence, the only sound Steve’s pencil scratching across the page.

~~~~~

Several days later, Steve came back from a run, dripping sweat and excitement.“Bucky!” he called as he opened the door.“Hey, Buck!”

There was a mumble from Bucky’s bedroom.

Steve kicked off his shoes and went down the hall, where Bucky’s door was still closed.He kicked himself—it was still only 7:30 in the morning.Bucky hadn’t had a particularly bad night—just the usual level of nightmare—but still.He needed his sleep. Sighing, he turned to his own room, starting to strip off his shirt as Bucky’s door opened.

“Stv,” mumbled Bucky.His hair was everywhere, his face pinched and lined from the pillow.Steve’s heart thumped at how...normal he looked. _He looks like_ Bucky _...only, with long hair. And a metal arm_. 

Steve looked up from said arm when he realized that Bucky was still squinting at him.

“Oh! Hi, Buck.Sorry about...” he waved his hands around, vaguely indicating the morning, the door, the whole situation. “I forgot it was still so early.”

Bucky yawned then, scratching his belly as he shuffled into the hall.“Well, I’m up now, jerk, so what is it?”He took a few steps forward to meet Steve.

Steve was suddenly rather acutely aware of how bad he smelled.He backed up a step and then nodded in the direction of the bathroom.“It’s—well, maybe it’s nothing.But let me take a shower first, and I’ll tell you about it.”

Bucky’s eyes opened fully at that. “Rogers, you woke me up.You want me to—what. Make you _coffee_ while I wait for you to get all prettied up for the day?I’m going back to bed now.”He turned to head back into his room.

Steve groaned. “Buck!No—sorry.”Bucky paused.“It’s just—I ran down this street I hardly ever go down, and I noticed this bookstore.A used bookstore, Buck!And it’s—look.It’s not in the kind of neighborhood where there’s a lot of cameras, you know?And it’s on the corner, so they have big windows on two sides, so you won’t feel—you know.And I looked in the window. There’s a whole shelf of books up front that says five for five!Like, a dollar a book.”He paused for breath.“So...I just thought that maybe you wouldn’t mind that place.No cameras.Not crowded, I bet, when it’s open.And lots of light, so you wouldn’t feel like you were...underground or whatever.You could stick to the front of the store if you wanted.And it’s cheap.We could get so many books for you there.If, y‘know, you wanted.”

Bucky had turned toward Steve halfway through the spiel, but his face was unreadable.He just looked blankly at Steve’s face for a minute before nodding his head. “Okay.”

Steve felt the corner of his mouth turn up.“Really?You’ll try it?”

Bucky rolled his eyes.“Yes, Steve.I’ll try it.When do they open?”

Steve’s mouth was undeniably grinning now.He knew he was overly excited, but he didn’t try to contain it.Bucky could deal.“It said 10:00...so, yeah.Wanna go today?”

Bucky turned away again, headed back to his room.He held up his hand in farewell. “Going back to sleep.I’ll be ready to go at 10.”

Steve felt the ridiculous grin deepen as he watched Bucky close his door.Then he turned and caught a whiff of himself. _Definitely time to shower_.

~~~~~

At 10:00, Steve was dressed and mindlessly sketching when Bucky’s door opened.Out stepped the man himself, looking slightly more alive in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt.He’d brushed his hair and put it back in a messy knot at the back of his neck. Steve couldn’t help but stare, but he lowered his eyes as Bucky looked up.“Okay, Rogers,” he announced.“Let’s go.”

“You wanna get something to eat first?”

Bucky shook his head.“No. This ain’t gonna take long, right?” 

Steve looked more carefully at him, at the fingers by his side curled a little more tensely than normal. _He’s nervous_.So, projecting what he hoped was an air of nonchalance, Steve shook his head and smiled. “I guess not.” He slipped on his shoes and grabbed his hat and sunglasses.

“You wanna get a jacket?” asked Bucky, shrugging into his. 

“Naw.It’s warm out.”

Bucky put his hands in his jacket pockets and eyed the bulging muscles under Steve’s short-sleeved t-shirt—no ball cap was going to hide those—but said nothing as Steve set the alarm and closed the door.

It was the first time they’d left the apartment together since Bucky had been back. As they stepped out on the sidewalk, Steve hunched his shoulders instinctively to make himself seem smaller, less recognizable.Bucky smirked and elbowed him gently.

“Why d’you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Hunch over like that.It doesn’t work, you know.You still look like Captain Goddamned America.” 

“Buck! Shhh!” Steve looked around, embarrassed.“I’m tryin’ to, you know, not be recognized here.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I ain’t stupid, Rogers.Ain’t nobody listening. There’s a guy walking his dog down the alley, an old lady at the café we just passed leaving with her giant cup of venti-whatever, and a dude looking out the window of the third floor across the street.” He recited all of this while looking about ten feet in front of him. 

Steve glanced down the alley they were passing, and, sure enough, there was a man and a dirty-looking dog headed away from them. 

“Steve.I’m cognizant of your desire to stay incognito.But I gotta tell ya, pal, you ain’t hidin’ anything in that shirt of yours.”

Steve frowned, looking down at his shirt.“What wrong with my shirt?”

“Leaves nothin’ to the imagination, ‘s what’s wrong with it.How many guys in New York have muscles like that?”

“Well...I dunno.Lots, I guess.”

“Stevie, there’s maybe two.And one of ‘em’s that Luke Cage fella, and you clearly ain’t him.”

Steve resumed his hunch as they crossed the street and headed east.“I didn’t think about that,” he mumbled.

Another elbow in his side.“‘Course not, Stevie.That’s why I’m here.Next time, wear a jacket or something, yeah?” 

Steve nodded, the tips of his ears red. _Let’s just say that undercover ops aren’t your strong suit, Steve_. Nat said those words to him once, before...well, before Insight.He should have asked for lessons.

The bookstore was about ten blocks from home, tucked between a Korean takeout place on one side of the corner and a row of older brownstones on the other.A weathered sign hung over the door:Simmons Used Books. 

Bucky paused, looking around, seeing a dozen escape routes, a dozen possible weapons to use should anyone ambush two guys walking into a bookstore at 10:00 a.m. on a Friday morning.He glanced at Steve and raised an eyebrow, shoulders shrugging slightly. _Might as well_.

They entered the shop, an old-fashioned bell ringing as they stepped inside.

Immediately the scent of old paper hit them, dust and book binding and everything that Bucky had grown to love about his Little Free Library books. 

It was a tiny place, aisles carved out between tall, battered bookcases that also seemed secondhand.Several rolling library carts up front were indeed labeled 5 for $5, but a half a dozen more tall shelves stretched back into the dim beyond the light entryway and the cash register. 

“Be right there!” called a woman’s voice. 

Bucky glanced at Steve briefly before heading to the first sale shelf.He leaned over, left hand still in his pocket as he tilted his head so he could read the spines.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” said a woman, hurrying to the front.Steve instinctively sized her up—Black, maybe 60 or so years old, graying hair, long cardigan over what looked like workout clothes.She smiled at Steve.“Good morning!”She paused, glancing at Bucky, who was studiously examining the bargain shelves.Her eyes returned to Steve. “Is there anything I can help you boys with today?”

Steve smiled and shook his head.“No thank you, ma’am.Just browsing.We didn’t know this place was here.”

The woman glanced at Bucky when she heard “we” and nodded at him.“Oh, yes,” she replied, turning her attention back to Steve.“We get that a lot.You’d think being on the corner would be good for business, but...well.These days people are just passing by to get from one place to another.No time to look up from their phones and see the world around them.”

Steve nodded.“I’ve noticed that, too.Young people don’t even look when they cross the street anymore.” 

The woman raised her eyebrow at “young people”—belatedly, he realized he sounded like he was 90, not 30—so he cut off any actual questions by asking, “Is this your business?”

She shook her head.“Oh, no.Well, not originally.My sister’s husband owned this store—his daddy was the original Simmons, but he—my brother-in-law—died in ‘96, so it passed to my sister.She was already sick then, so I helped out a bit, and we ran it together for a while.But then she passed in ‘03.So I’m not a Simmons, no.But I guess it is my store.”She laughed to herself. “Funny, isn’t it?It’s been my store for over a decade, but I still think of myself as just an employee.”

Steve nodded.“I get that.And I’m so sorry about your sister and her husband.They must have been interesting people.”

The woman frowned. “How so?”

Steve gestured at the stacks of books. “They were readers, right?And people who read are more interesting people.At least, in my experience.” 

The woman nodded.“Oh.Well, my sister wasn’t much of a reader, I have to say.I don’t know how she ended up with Jim—that was my brother-in-law, Jim Simmons—since he was, as you say, a reader.She was a doer.Couldn’t sit still long enough to get through a chapter sometimes, let alone a whole book!”

Steve laughed with her.“I used to know someone like that.”The fact that said person was now behind him, deep in the discount shelf and wholly unlike the Bucky of Before who couldn’t focus long enough to finish a comic book sometimes, he kept to himself. 

The woman stuck her hand out. “I’m Marjorie Staples.Margie.” 

Steve shook.“I’m Steve.”He nodded at Bucky.“That bookworm over there is my—friend.Umm, James.”

“Oh, like Jim!”Margie called to Bucky.“Do folks call you Jim, too?”

Bucky glanced up through the long wisps falling out of his bun and into his face.“No ma’am.Leastwise, not folks I like.”He offered a small smile—reticent for Bucky, but still charming for all that.“James is fine.”

“Well, James, welcome.You, too, Steve.Now, you just have yourself a look around.There are some baskets at the front”—she nodded to a stack of mismatched plastic bins with handles sitting by the door—“if you find yourself grabbing more than you can carry.” 

She left Steve and bustled her way behind the counter, where she began arranging a messy assortment of books into different piles.Steve walked to Bucky, who already had a stack of books on the floor at his feet. 

“Looks like you found some stuff already, Buck.”He kept his voice down.

Bucky looked up with a grin, less reserved than the one he’d offered Margie.“Stevie, look at it!All this”—he gestured to the floor—“for fifteen bucks!And I ain’t even looked on the other shelves yet!”

Steve’s heart thumped again at Bucky’s smile.His eyes.So he turned away.“Let me get you a basket, Bu—James,” he corrected himself as he neared Margie’s hearing range.Dropping the basket off with Bucky, he approached the register.

“Margie?”She looked up from her sorting with an expectant look. “Do you have any art books?”

Margie narrowed her eyes in thought.“Do you want history or technique?”

Steve startled at the fact that he might have a choice.“Umm.History, I guess?”

Margie nodded and then pointed to a stack behind him. “Yes.I believe those are fourth shelf to the left, halfway down, toward the bottom.Some of them are bigger, so they’re on the bottom rack.”Steve moseyed to the aisle, eyes skimming over every kind of book imaginable as he made his way to the art section. _How to Make a Model Airplane.Mom ‘N Pop’s Apple Pie Cookbook._ He huffed out a silent breath when he passed _The True Story of the Howling Commandos_ , a book he’d encountered soon after the ice. It was written in the 1980s, and from what he could tell from the few pages he’d managed to get through, the author was a nebbish, arrogant history buff who had never actually even met any of the Howlies.

He found the art section, haphazardly organized, and quickly fell into the pages.When he’d first come back, he had started to catch up on what he’d missed.He discovered a love of Pollock but couldn’t quite understand what people saw in Warhol.Then aliens attacked, he got sucked back into SHIELD, and art fell by the wayside.Now, though, that SHIELD was in tatters and he was on a self-imposed hiatus, he found himself eager to finally dive back into Pop Art.

He sat on the floor, back hunched uncomfortably against one shelf with his feet propped up against another.He was thumbing through a stack of large coffee-table books, most in their original thick plastic dust jackets, when Bucky’s voice startled him.“Hey, Stevie.Whatcha got there?”

Bucky was silhouetted against the front window, so Steve couldn’t see his face, but he saw the line of Bucky’s shoulders.They were easy, his stance casual and loose. His basket almost overflowed with books.

Steve smiled gently as he pushed himself to his feet, grabbing the books he’d stacked up to buy and dusting off his pants. Keeping his voice light, he replied, “Looks like you got enough there to keep you busy, Buck.Maybe for a whole week.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Can’t help it that I read faster than you now, pal.”He lowered his voice conspiratorially.“And we know I _run_ faster, now, too.” He capped off this commentary with an exaggerated wink. 

Steve stood there in the art-cookbook-history aisle, stunned.Bucky was—was he was joking about the Soldier?About all those months he kept one step ahead of Sam and Steve? 

“Yeah, well.”Steve cleared his throat, not sure whether or not he should acknowledge what a big deal this was.Bucky hadn’t talked at all about his time on the run yet.For him to drop a casual mention in the middle of a new place was—it was a goddamned _miracle_ , and he was so much like Before-Bucky in this moment that Steve wanted to give him a hug, right there next to _The Unabridged History of the Vietnam War_. Instead, he blinked back tears, wrenching his emotions firmly into place as he retorted, “That one isn’t so new.You always could run faster than a spindly asthmatic.Not much to brag about, if you ask me.”Nudging Bucky with his shoulder, he looked into the basket.Most of the books were paperbacks—Steve recognized a few of them, but most were unfamiliar.“You ready to go?”

Bucky nodded, his shoulders sagging as he followed Steve’s gaze to the pile. “I guess I didn’t realize how many there were.”He frowned, still looking at the books.“I can put some back, I guess.It’s a lot to carry h—”

Steve reached out and snatched the basket before Bucky had even finished speaking.“It’s fine, Buck.I think we can manage a couple dozen books between us.”He squeezed past Bucky and headed to the register while Bucky stared after him.Steve glanced back.“Looks like I can _grab_ things faster than you, still.” 

He turned around, almost to the register, when a guffaw exploded behind him.Steve grinned.His heart thumped.

“I think we’re ready now,” he announced, putting Bucky’s basket and his own stack of art books on the counter. 

Margie shoved aside some paperbacksshe was putting little stickers on. “Well, now!”She began emptying the basket and ringing up the purchases, one dollar at a time.“Looks like you two will be busy for a while, hmm?”

“Yes ma’am.”Suddenly, a thought occurred to Steve.“I—er, I hope that’s okay? There’s no limit?”

Margie laughed as she worked.“Limits?Lordy, no.That’s how I make my money.No one comes in here and buys just one book.”She glanced up at Steve.“They’re like potato chips.Can’t have just one!”

Steve smiled politely—there was another reference he’d have to look up—and then glanced behind him, making sure Bucky was okay.Sure enough, he was scanning the shelves again, flesh hand running over the spines as though he could intuit their contents through touch.

Turning back to Margie, Steve got out his wallet.Margie was putting their purchases in some thin plastic bags, double-bagging the heavier art books.“Are you boys going to be okay carrying all of this?I used to sell those reusable bags, you know, but no one bought them, so I stopped carrying them.You’re welcome to leave some of these here if you need to make a second trip.”

Steve eyed the bags—there _were_ an awful lot of them—but shook his head. “That’s okay. I think we can handle it.”

Margie’s eyes roamed Steve’s arms.“Mmmm-hmmm. I bet you can, at that.” 

Steve felt his face redden. 

Margie laughed.“Oh, I’m sorry, Steve.That was unprofessional.You just...look like you work out a lot.”

Steve could feel that his ears were now red.He was one-hundred percent sure that Bucky was hearing every word of this and laughing.

Stiffly, he replied, “Yes’m, I do.” _I should’ve worn the damn coat_.

Margie, eyes still twinkling, said, “That’s $48.76.”

Steve pulled out three twenties.“Here you go, Margie.Keep the change.”

She looked up at him in surprise.“You sure?”

Steve startled as Bucky sidled up to him and replied.“Of course.We’ll probably be back.Gotta make sure you save the best stuff for us.”He gave her an exaggerated wink as he grabbed as many white plastic bags as he could with one hand.

Margie laughed.“Well, I’ll do just that, James. I get shipments on Wednesday and Saturday mornings, usually, if you want to come by then.”

He nodded, grinning. “Yes, ma’am.Now let me get this big lug outta here before those muscles explode in embarrassment.”

Margie burst out laughing again, but Steve just sighed and laughed along with them as he grabbed the rest of the bags.“Thanks again, ma’am,” he nodded to her. 

Margie came around to open the door for them since they were loaded down with bags.“It’s Margie, Steve. And you are welcome anytime.The both of you.”As she opened the door, a gust of wind blew inside, ruffling the pages of some open books lying on display.“Oh...looks like rain.”She stepped aside to let them pass.“You boys better get to where you’re going.”

They stepped past her onto the sidewalk, where it was definitely breezier now than it had been an hour ago.They nodded as Margie gave them one final wave, closing the door and heading back to the register.

Steve glanced at Bucky, who had lost his charming grin.His shoulders were starting to creep up again. 

“Buck?You okay?The bags aren’t too heavy, are they?” Bucky had kept his left hand shoved in his pocket, so he’d really weighed down his other arm with books.

Bucky shook his head.He started to speed up.

“Bucky?”Steve started jogging to catch up, but it was awkward with the heavy bags dangling from both hands.“Buck, wait up.What’s wrong?”

Bucky’s hand was clenched around the bags.The knuckles were white.“ ‘S gonna rain, Stevie.” 

Steve looked up.“Yeah, probably.But—oh!The books.Yeah, we don’t want them to get wet.”

Bucky shook his head.Just then, Steve felt the first drops hit his arms.“Uh-oh, Buck. Let’s—“ he stopped for a minute, stepping to the side to let pedestrians by.He put down the bags and began to tie them closed, covering the books that lay on top of each bag. 

“Stevie!”Bucky’s voice came at him from half a block away—he hadn’t realized that Steve had stopped.Stalking back almost angrily to Steve, he hissed, “What are you doing?We hafta get home now.” 

Steve glanced at the sky.It was raining harder, but it was normal—not a downpour.The people on the street were walking more quickly, but no one was running or anything.He didn’t understand why Bucky was so urgent.

“It’s fine, Buck.See?I tied the bags closed. They shouldn’t get wet.”Bucky groaned.He put down his bags, so Steve started tying those, too.He worked quickly, not sure what Bucky was so worried about but not wanting to upset him any more.He was finishing up the last one when he jumped, feeling something on his shoulders. 

Bucky’s coat.

“I don’t care about the books, Steve.”His voice was almost frantic as he started picking up the bags again, using both arms now that he couldn’t hide the metal hand in his jacket.“Gotta get you home.” He shook his hair out of his face, hair that was admittedly dripping now.

Oh. _Oh_.

Steve stood up and jammed his arms into the too-small coat.As soon as he picked up the rest of the bags, Bucky started walking again at that ridiculously fast pace.Steve caught up with him.“Bucky, you know I don’t get sick anymore, right?I go out in the rain all the time now.”

Bucky didn’t respond—just kept weaving through the other people on the sidewalk.“Buck?” He tried again.No response.Just a tightening of his grip on the bags, a tightening of his jaw. _He’s on a mission._ Steve sighed and kept pace as the rain gradually intensified.

Bucky wasn’t kidding about being faster than Steve.Both of them were hampered by the awkward bags, so they couldn’t really run, but Steve was sure Bucky could win any speed-walking contest.By the time they got back to the apartment, even Steve was out of breath, and of course both of them were soaked.

Steve dropped the dripping bags outside his door as he fished out his keys—hard to do with sodden jeans.He fumbled a bit and yelped when Bucky grabbed the keys from his hand. “Jesus, Steve,” he muttered, turning the key and roughly grasping Steve’s elbow to pull him through the doorway.He closed the door—their bags still soaking in the hallway—and immediately ran down the interior hall to the closet, not caring that he was leaving dirty, wet footprints on the carpet.He took a stack of towels and stalked back to Steve, who was staring dumbly at him.

“Well?” Bucky asked, his voice hoarder than it had sounded in a while.“You know the drill.C’mon.Off with the clothes.” He looked exactly like he did in 1939, chastising a defiant and dripping Steve for taking too long to get into the tin tub.

Steve didn’t know whether to laugh or protest, so what came out was more of a strangled squawk.“Buck—it’s really fine.I don’t get sick anymore—”

Bucky didn’t seem to hear him.He dropped the stack of towels and seized the back of the jacket, yanking it off of Steve’s arms before dumping it on the floor.Coming around to the front, he took the hem of Steve’s shirt, beginning to pull it up. It was at the level of Steve’s armpits when Steve grabbed Bucky’s hands and said, more firmly than he had before, “Bucky!”

Bucky startled at that, seeming to wake up from his frantic daze. He glanced at Steve’s face and then down at his exposed torso, eyes widening.Letting go of the shirt, he inhaled sharply and stepped back.Feeling carpet instead of the tile of the entranceway under his boots, he glanced behind him, his eyes trailing down the hall where his muddy boot prints stood out starkly.

His eyes flickered back to Steve, who had put his shirt to rights, and then down at the floor.“ _Steve_.”It was low, quiet. 

Steve toed his way out of his sneakers and stepped closer.“Hey.”His hand reached out to Bucky’s shoulder, but he drew it back again, unsure.“Buck.It’s fine.”

Bucky, still looking down, shook his dripping head.“No.It’s—I’m sorry.I forgot.”

“Forgot that I was big now?”

Bucky nodded.

“Well, me, too, if it’s any consolation.And I’m the one who lives in this body, so, y’know, it’s no wonder that you might forget on occasion.”Steve stepped forward again more slowly, letting Bucky know he was coming closer.He reached out and grabbed Bucky’s shoulder.His thumb absently rubbed back and forth over Bucky’s collarbone as he crouched down to try and catch Bucky’s eye.“Hey.”He used his other hand to gently tap Bucky’s chin up.“Look at me.” 

Bucky looked up, gray eyes no longer brazenly confident, the way they’d looked at the bookstore.They were hurt, uncertain...fearful. _Oh, that won’t do_. 

“Did I ever tell you about the first time I got caught in the rain after I got back?”Bucky shook his head miserably.“Well, let me tell you, I reacted the same way you did just now.”He recounted his first post-ice run in the rain.

Bucky’s posture loosened up as Steve talked, and by the time the story was finished, he was looking at Steve in earnest.The fearful look was gone from his expression. Steve’s hand was still on his shoulder, thumb still moving.Their faces were inches apart, and as Steve’s voice trailed off, he glanced down at Bucky’s lips. _So pink_.

At that moment, Bucky shivered, and Steve realized that they were both still soaking wet.Clearing his throat, he took a step back, letting go of Bucky’s shoulder. “So I guess we still need to warm up, right?Why don’t you take your shower first, huh?I’ll clean all this up—” he gestured to the wet floor around them.“Then I’ll start the laundry, yeah?”

Bucky shook his head, as though clearing the cobwebs.“No—no, you go first.I made most of the mess anyway.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Bucky stepped forward into Steve’s space.He put his metal forefinger on Steve’s mouth. “Nope.I insist.”

Steve was shocked into silence.Bucky rarely touched him with the metal hand.

“Huh.All I have to do is cover your mouth to get you to shut up, Stevie?”The gleam was back in his eyes.“Wish I’d have known that years ago.”

Steve grinned as Bucky dropped his arm.“Yeah, well.You always were bossy.Jerk.”

Bucky huffed a laugh.“If you think I’m the bossy one here, pal, then I’m theQueen of Sheba.”

Steve raised an eyebrow before deliberately bowing low before Bucky. “Your majesty.”

Snorting, Bucky shoved Steve toward the bathroom. “Go take your shower, you punk.Leave your clothes outside the door.I’ll start the laundry.”

Still grinning, Steve made his way to the bathroom, grabbing clean clothes on the way. When he emerged about fifteen minutes later, the washing machine was running, and Bucky had on old sweats and a ratty T-shirt.He was scrubbing the carpet in the hallway with a bucket of suds and a rag.Without looking up, he commented, “I got the books.I don’t think any of your art stuff got wet, but I laid it all out anyway.”

Steve glanced to the living room, where he saw their purchases organized in neat rows on the floor in front of the couch.“Thanks, Buck,” he said gently as he crouched beside him.“Looks good here.Why don’t you let me finish up so you can take your shower?” 

Bucky kept scrubbing the carpet as though Steve hadn’t spoken. 

“Buck?” Steve laid his hand on Bucky’s arm.“Please.Let me.”

Bucky stilled, but he still said nothing.Steve kept babbling to fill the silence.“It’s okay.You don’t have to clean up as penance or something...I don’t mind finishing up.”

Still nothing.

Steve ran his hand down Bucky’s arm to his wrist and then to his hand that was clutching the rag.He tugged on the cloth, which came easily. Smiling, he glanced at Bucky’s face. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”But his smile faded as he saw Bucky’s expression.It was—he didn’t know _what_ it was.He hadn’t seen this one yet.

“Bucky?You okay?”

Bucky muttered something that not even Steve’s enhanced hearing could discern.“What’s that, Buck?” 

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Bucky spoke quietly.“I was so afraid.”

Frowning, Steve reached out, realizing that he was still holding the dirty rag.Dropping it in the bucket, he sat down properly and faced Bucky, who was still hunched in a crouch.“Afraid of what?”

“You. Getting sick.”

 _Oh_.“Yeah, Buck.I know.I remember.”

Bucky looked up sharply at him. “You remember being _sick_.You don’t remember being afraid of _losing_ —” He cut himself off, pursing his lips in frustration.

“Losing someone?” Bucky nodded jerkily. Steve sighed. “Yeah, actually, I do, Buck.”His eyes searched Bucky’s face, wondering how much he was really remembering.“I remember being afraid of losing my ma when she got sick.And she still insisted on going to work when she could barely stand up.You remember that?”

Bucky nodded again.

“I remember being afraid of losing—of losing you.More than once, if you recall.When you left, of course, but then...”He took a steadying breath.“After Azzano.If I hadn’t found you—”It was Steve’s turn to stop talking, unable to continue.

“What?” Bucky’s voice was thick, and Steve realized that he was holding back tears.“What would you have done if they’d actually killed me then?” And then, more quietly, “‘Cause I gotta tell ya, pal, I don’t know that you _do_ get it.”

Steve didn’t know how to answer that.At the time, he’d been so stupidly desperate, refusing to think about what might happen if he couldn’t save Bucky.The moment when he recognized him strapped to that table...even now, Steve could still feel the almost debilitating sense of relief.It practically drove him to his knees, right there in the room where they’d tortured Bucky, the mantra rushing through him on some visceral level. _He’s alive he’s alive he’s alive_.

Wiping his eyes— _when did I start crying?_ —he shook his head. “I dunno.But I don’t think...”

“Don’t think what?”Bucky’s eyes traced the tear dripping down Steve’s cheek.His right hand was clenched over his left.

“I don’t think I’d have gone on.Y’know.”

Bucky’s eyes looked between Steve’s own, trying to gauge his sincerity.Then, incredibly, he started to _laugh_.He laughed so hard that he fell from his crouching position, landing hard on his ass and accidentally jostling the bucket of cold, dirty water.He laughed so hard that the tears he’d been holding back ran freely down his face. 

Steve’s ears turned red as he stared.“I don’t see what’s so funny,” he said defensively. 

Bucky was snorting, even slapping the floor with his fist as though he couldn’t contain his mirth.“Oh, Stevie” he gurgled out, between fits of laughter.“You—you— _ha_!”

Steve felt his whole face burning now.With shame or anger, he couldn’t tell.He’d just told Bucky he didn’t want to live without him, and Bucky was laughing at him.

Bucky finally calmed down and noticed Steve’s agitation.“Aww, Stevie, don’t be mad.I ain’t laughing at you.”

“Sure seems that way from where I’m sitting,” he replied stiffly.

“No, you’ve got it all wrong.”He leaned forward and grabbed Steve’s hand with his own.“I was laughing because I know _exactly_ what you’d have done.”

Feeling appeased by Bucky’s voluntary touching, Steve tried to be charitable as he asked, “And what might that be?”

Bucky squeezed Steve’s fingers.“You’d have killed them all.Hydra, I mean.You’d have torn through Europe just like you did—except I wouldn’t have been there to watch your six.”He frowned, musing as he tried to put the pieces together.“You’d have gotten some other sniper for the Howlies.Jacobson, maybe—he was pretty good.”

“Not as good as you,” breathed Steve softly, squeezing Bucky’s fingers back.

Bucky shook his head. “No.Not as good as me.That shooter outside of Zagreb would have gotten you.Or maybe that one in Graz.”

“No one else would have been able to make those shots the way you did. Save me the way you did.”

“Yeah, well, it was Hydra’s own damn fault.But still, besides being deprived of my... _enhanced_ skills, you’d have been totally reckless.You’d have made stupid mistakes.”

“You mean like crashing an airplane into the Arctic Ocean?”

Bucky smiled gently, watching his own hand as he weaved his flesh fingers between Steve’s.“Yeah.Like that.”He looked up again.“ ‘Cept you wouldn’t have made it that far.You’d have died of chronic stupidity long before that plane took off.And then—well, who knows?Maybe someone else woulda stopped the bombs.But I doubt it.”

“So what you’re saying,” Steve sniffed as his snotty nose threatened to drip, “is that you saved the world.”He shook Bucky’s hand, still tangled up in his own.“You’re the hero in this situation, Buck. You lived.And none of that woulda happened the way it did if you—if you hadn’t made it then.”

Bucky shrugged, mouth curling up in a tiny smile.“What can I say?Behind every star-spangled man with a plan lies the true brains of the operation.Someone’s got to save the idiot from himself.”

“But the idiot needs someone to save him.”Steve looked pointedly at Bucky.“So please, don’t tell me that I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone I—someone I love. _Please_.Give me the courtesy of understanding at least that much.”

Bucky looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.Then he nodded.“Okay.”

They sat there for a moment, examining at one another, settling into calm and reassuring each other that yes, this latest crisis was past.They’d made it through another minefield of memory.

Nodding, Steve wiped his eyes with his free hand.“Since you’re in such a magnanimous mood, why don’t you do me a favor and take that shower.I’ll finish this, and then I’ll make some lunch...” He started to mentally inventory the fridge. “Grilled cheese, maybe?”

Bucky pulled back, clearly ready to argue again that he should finish cleaning the mess.Steve reached out and put his finger on Bucky’s lips.“Please.Let me take care of you, too.”

Bucky frowned. “All oove dn.” He did his best to talk while his lips were pressed together. 

Steve smiled as he removed his finger. “What was that?”

“I said, that’s all you’ve been doing.Taking care of me.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got years of catching up to do.And I like it.So don’t be an asshole about it, okay?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Fine.” After stretching his arms and vigorously rubbing his tear-stained face, he stood up smoothly, holding out a hand to help Steve off of the floor.As he let go of Steve’s hand, turning to head into the bathroom, he said casually over his shoulder.“No grilled cheese, though. Enchiladas.” 

Steve snorted. “Well, okay, then.Anything else, your highness?”

His face disappearing as he closed the bathroom door, Bucky winked.The lock clicked.

Steve rubbed his own hands over his face and took a deep, shaky breath.As he heard the shower water turn on, he crouched down once more and started scrubbing the carpet.As he worked, he thought that he would happily scrub Bucky’s footprints off of the carpet every day for the rest of his life. 

As he cooked enchiladas, he thought that he would happily be Bucky’s personal chef every day for the rest of his life.

As they napped on the couch after lunch, head to foot, some nature documentary on the television, he thought that he would happily sleep with Bucky’s feet in his face every day for the rest of his life. 

As they started to organize and sort their books, he realized that he wouldn’t mind doing this—just this, just living a boring life—with Bucky every day for the rest of his life.

As they sat side by side on the couch that evening, reading their new books, Steve glanced up at Bucky, who was tearing through some science-fiction novel, his supersoldier eyes skimming each page yet somehow absorbing every nuance of language, every plot point.And with more certainty than he’d felt since Bucky’s return, Steve realized that this was Bucky’s After time.After everything he’d been through, Bucky deserved every happiness that Steve could possibly provide for the rest of his life.

And maybe Steve did, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all who are reading!


End file.
